


If Only I Didn't Want You

by bettercrazythanboring



Series: fuck me if you must, then [1]
Category: Morning Glories
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 04:39:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1027325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettercrazythanboring/pseuds/bettercrazythanboring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By the time they turn seventeen, Jade and Ike have become frenemies with benefits and they're not about to stop now. Is a kind of through the years thing.</p><p>Sexually explicit content and lots of swearing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Only I Didn't Want You

"We have to,"  _gasp_ , "stop doing this."

The words follow a freakishly long moan on her part and, as such, don't really hold much power.

"You say that," he mutters, "but do you ever act on it?" His words are muffled, lips flattened against her skin, and his breath tickles the wet thigh underneath her skirt. "See, I seem to recall being  _dragged_  in here, not being the dragg _er_. Which I never oppose being, don't get me wrong, but proper fact-checking is essenti—"

"Shut up, shut up,  _shut up_ ; that's only this once—"

"—same thing happened last week, Red—"

"—and your mouth is  _ruining_  this," she finishes, back arching when his tongue darts out, wiggles, and sends yet another jolt through her. What's it been, ten times in the last fifteen minutes now that her legs have stayed straight solely because he's holding them up?

He gasps in mockery. "I would think that my mouth is the force  _behind_  this entire predicament we're in." He grazes his teeth over the red flesh lightly to prove his point, chuckling to himself at the way her hips buck into his face.

Her fingertips search for something to hold onto in this dark, stuffy broom closet, scrambling over splintery wood and dusty glass vials that she probably shouldn't be touching. They clang to the floor, shattering like dust at first impact, and she reaches out for something,  _something_  that would tether her to this moment, this place, this feeling. Some way she could bottle up her thoughts right just now—or the lack of them, now that she thinks about it—and lift the lid of it on dark, depressing nights when the entire world seems to be covered in her cold sweat and visions of death dance before her eyes.

Ike drags his fingers over her waist. "And  _speaking_  of behind—"

Her hands feel around in the dark, grabbing for a pole or large paperweight that could hold her up —because, really, it's a miracle she's still standing—but instead they cause two monumental thuds and an "ow."

"Uh. I must say," he mutters, removing his lips from her skin, and she thinks she hears him muffle a grunt. "If that was you reaching for my payment, don't bother; my services are free."

Ike clears his throat, hand flying to his wounded shoulder. He glances at the heavy book that only just missed his skull when it fell.

"For now," he adds.

She can almost imagine the smirk that no doubt accompanies these words and her hands have already assumed a battle stance—the odds that they can make it through an entire hour together without Jade exercising any kind of violence, fleeting or permanent, are extremely low—but she looks down and, instead, all she sees is in the dim illumination of the hallway light that sneaks under the door is a vague glint in his eyes.

A glint she wishes to all the gods anyone has ever worshipped didn't drain her limbs of whatever blood is still there, remaining after what they've been doing here for the past half hour. After what has happened in her core since he dropped to his knees ten minutes ago and used her pleated skirt as a veil.

But there it goes, her life force, rushing to her fingers and toes and forehead against all her better judgment, getting stuck halfway down her neck, and pooling into a giant ball of heat right where his tongue is supposed to be right now.

 _Why for the love of sanity_  isn't his tongue  _there_  and not forming words?

Jade would like him so much better if he never talked. Ever.

She scowls down at him. "Don't kid yourself, asshat. You're pirated music," she says, running her hand through his hair.

It fists in the straw-like strands that she's very recently learned his hair turns into if not gelled, and pushes his head closer to her. He bites the inside of her thigh a little harder than she'd like and, wondering if what she feels is annoyance or arousal, she drags him up for a sloppy kiss.

"Why pirated?" he asks against her mouth, palm snaking over her neck and up into her hair. "Not that I'm offended, but I've always fancied myself as a good, obscure vinyl shop tucked into some basement on Fifth Avenue."

He bumps into something and the string he pulls on absentmindedly makes a bulb above them buzz to life.

"Huh. Is it just me or is it less hot with the lights on?"

"It's not just you."

"Thought so. Why pirated?" he asks again, running his hands over her sides.

The redhead hums, smiling sweetly. "Because, Ike," she says, fingers trailing over his now-visible biceps, "as long as you're free, I don't have anything better to do than to take advantage of you."

She grinds her hips into him—slow and drawn out, drawing spirals around his bulge and feeling her wetness smear onto his pants. His eyes go dark and narrow, and she grins at his almost imperceptible hiss as her hips return to their rightful place against the shelf, away from him.

"But the moment I have to work for it," she continues with a kiss, "you bet your ass I'm gonna forget all about little old you."

The guy lets out a breathless snort. "Funny."

His hand slips back between her thighs, pushing the cotton fabric away once more and continuing where his tongue left off. He holds her daring stare as his middle finger slips into her, their eyes two inches apart and noses just on the verge of bumping together. He cups her folds in between pumping in and out of her wet heat, delighted to see her expression twitch when he rubs circles with them. She loves every  _second_  of their times spent in dark, damp closets, and it's high time she admitted it.

It's gonna be fun making her do it.

"Funny?" she asks to distract herself from his hand because, wow, no way is she backing down from this glaring contest.

Still, she barely bites back a whimper—the loud, screaming kind—when he presses his fingers against her clit and starts vibrating the muscles in his forearm, yanking his entire hand back and forth sporadically.

She keeps her eyes on his even when she can't really see anymore, the pulse thudding in her neck and ears somehow impairing her vision as well, and her legs stay straight by sheer force of will.

"Funny," he agrees with a grin and, without relinquishing the upper hand in this situation, breaks their link to bend down and suck on the simple sports bra underneath the blouse he unbuttoned with his other arm while she was too busy pretending she didn't want him to fuck her. "That whole thing about our acquaintance being temporary and easily replaceable… that's usually my line," he explains. "Also ouch."

She stops gasping soundlessly now that he's no longer looking and yanks her head back. Along with her boobs, which he protests about. "Whoa, whoa, you think I'm anything like  _you_?!"

"There you go, assuming things again." He sighs with an eyeroll. "I simply meant." He presses flush against her—and, by proxy, the shelf behind her. "That." Both of his palms leave what they were doing and travel to her ass, squeezing on the soft flesh there. "We both know what this is."

Ike lifts her hips up and seats her firmly on the metal behind her.

"And what is that?"

His eyes run appreciatively over the small, perky breast he's managed to free from its shackles and the taut abdomen peeking out from her white blouse and the cunt that's no longer covered by the skirt he's hiked up.

"Pure." Kiss. "Unadulterated." Bite. " _Lust_."

His voice sends a shiver down her spine and Jade lowers her eyes to his half-open shirt, gaze lingering on the muscles there and the half-torn purple scarf he absolutely refuses to throw out.

"There is no other conceivable reason I'd let you do this to me, so I guess you're right. Once more. But then that's it. We  _have_  to stop doing this."

"' _Let_ ' me?" He groans. "Look, why don't you search your soul—or your vagina; I don't really care—and think back on the last few months and the enthusiasm with which you, ahem, 'let me' fuck you, okay? 'Cause I know you and you know me, and we both know this school, and  _this_ —"

He pulls her close, every curve of her body pressed tight against every his.

"— _isn't_  gonna stop until one of us either dies or gets expelled. Your constant whining about your own decisions after every time we exchange personal fluids is, quite frankly, really putting a damper on my boners." His mouth tightens. "You want this as much as I do, Red, so stop acting like you're somehow lowering yourself. If anything,  _I'm_  the one lowering my standards because I guarantee you I'm the best lay you'll ever have and you're not even in my top ten."

With that, he lets her go and steps back.

Her jaw clenches.

Slowly, she raises her hand and puts a single digit in her mouth, as suggestively as is humanly possible.

It goes in all the way and she sucks on it a few seconds as he watches, mesmerized. Jade keeps her eyes firmly on the crotch of his pants, watching with pursed lips as it strains when she draws the digit back out at a snail's pace, coated with a sheen of saliva.

Finally, the tip of her nail comes out and he's left scowling with a pulsing erection at her very raised, very clear middle finger as she pointedly closes her bare legs shut.

She chuckles humorlessly at his offended expression. "And you wonder why I feel dirty every time we do this."

"It  _is_  dirty." He crosses his arms, debating whether or not to just jerk off right there if she's gonna be like this. "That's the whole point. This place is full of casual sins worse than the kinkiest, most perverted shit I could ever come up with and, sweetheart, this  _really_  isn't it. Speaking of which, let me know if you're interested; I can set it up in two hours max."

Jade glares at him in disbelief.

"Right. The point. Where on Abraham's grave did I put it?" He pats his pockets. "Oh, I remember. We're never getting out of here." His face sombers. "Every single thing we do in these halls is coated with the knowledge that the next moment any of us might drop dead.

"Which means that if you fuck me on as regular a basis as you've  _been doing_ , may I remind you, you a) really want to fuck, and b) have no one else else you'd rather do it with. And, hey, same applies to me." He raises his hands in defense. "Granted, I've screwed nearly every girl at this school and the pool is getting pretty limited these days, but you're still near the top of my list of people I wanna do."

She rolls her eyes, but tucks her hair behind her ear.

"Point is, I'm not asking you to marry me or even  _like_  me. Matter of fact, I don't like  _you_. But good things are at a shortage of this school and, dare I say, what we've been having counts as one. Sex is sex. There's nothing inherently shameful about having it with  _anyone_  as long as you don't regret it already when it's happening."

He steps closer, shifting his dick uncomfortably. Why must he deliver his big bomb of truth  _now_ , when he can see her nipple being hard and his fingers are still wet from being inside her?

Ike swallows. "The concept of guilty pleasures is foreign to me, I'll admit, but this isn't an ABC Family movie. You either love it or you don't. You don't  _'give in this once'_  or  _'regret it tomorrow'_ ', and you  _certainly_  haven't been coerced; even I have boundaries.  _You_  decide to go through with it every single time, so, let me ask you, why should this stop if we both want it to continue?"

He raises his eyebrows when she peeks at him, head hanging low. She rests her hands against her knees and taps lightly on them, thinking.

"That wasn't a rhetorical question, by the way," he adds. "I want a serious fucking answer."

Still she stays quiet.

Ike's foot starts banging against the floor after half a minute, eyes fixed on her red, soft lips, and he clears his throat periodically.

Finally, she looks up.

"So, what you're proposing is exactly what we've been doing for the last three months, but without the guilt?"

"Exactly."

Her eyes tighten. "And no one has to know?"

"Weeeell, why you'd keep secret that you have unlimited access to my dick I have no idea, but it's not a requirement, no."

She examines him for a few moments more, unsure of what she's searching for, and then shifts her knees open again in an invitation.

"Finally," he mutters and races over to her to cover her mouth with his, stroking his crotch through the pants.

"But I want to make clear that you're still an asshole and I hate you."

He doesn't even leave her lips. "Never stopped you before."

She moans into him as his hand returns to her folds. "But it will someday."

"Nope. We are all ruled by our bodies and, boy howdy, do ours like each other." He smirks as she undoes his belt with quick, trembling fingers that he somehow  _still_  hasn't persuaded her to use on his cock. He should really get on that sometime soon. Tomorrow, maybe.

Jade wars with herself, pulling the zipper down with painfully slow motions. "Says you."

"Actually, it's also scientifically proven," he says, adjusting his scarf in anticipation of what's to come, "but I'm just observing here. No one can resist the Ike."

She grits her teeth. There must be something seriously wrong with her if words like this—and worse, said in that sickly sweet, smooth voice he favors—can make her heart swell with need so much that, with the ravenous beating, the prison of her ribs feels unable to contain it anymore. But they do. And it  _sucks_.

Her fingers pull off his shirt, scratching the taut skin underneath before her lips taste it. "Keep talking and we'll test that theory."

He rests an elbow on one side of her and leans casually against the shelf, still standing between her knees with an erection half out of his boxers. "Actually, I'd rather shut up and get us both off. And  _then_  see if either of us are still in the mood for talking. What do you say about this sequence of events?"

Jade tries to part the dense air with her hands, certain something will implode if they stay like this for even a moment longer. Then, at long last, she puts those long, agile fingers where he wants them most and guides his shaft closer to those warm, wet depths that he can bury himself in for a while. Forget everything that's happened in the last two years and just let go.

"That works for me." She wraps her legs around him, sucking in a breath when they join, and, once again, tries to find something behind her to hold onto.

(And not kill him in the process. Although bludgeoning him on the head with something heavy and blunt is never out of the question.)

* * *

 "Not that I don't appreciate the enthusiasm," he says, scratching under his eye as she loosens his tie, then her own, and, in the end, attempts to discard of all clothing period, "but we're currently trapped in this far-from-five-start cell with no way out unless one of us volunteers to get hacked into little pieces. Call me selfish, but I'd prefer my dick to not be the first thing to go when someone inevitably comes to check on us with a knife."

"Ike," she musters with a groan and eyes that drift shut. "I'm bleeding and my toe is broken and I'm pretty close to convinced that my head has been flattened by an anvil, making this entire thing a pre-death hallucination, and I'm  _really_  not in the mood for your games."

She gathers enough strength to lift her eyelids and glare at him.

"I need endorphins," she says. "I need to distract myself. I need to have it  _not hurt_. Now, I guess I could beat you to a pulp and I'm  _certain_  it would have the desired effect, but I thought, 'hey, why not take the easy way for once?'"

She makes the mistake of touching the throbbing bulge on her skull and yelps from the sharp sting, unable to contain the gasps that follow.

"You're... not faking?" He sounds surprised.

"Oh, let me think," she hisses through the pain. " _No, I am not_ faking _; what the fuck is wrong with you?!_

"I normally take these things with a grain of salt; that's all. Women will do anything to get some of me; you know how it is." He nods to himself. "Some guys, too," he adds.

A moment passes.

"Ike." She has to gather all her strength to not murder him on the spot. "I don't believe for a second that anyone would do  _anything_  to get into your pants, but why the fuck are you still standing there? Are you gonna have sex with me or not, you insufferable douchebg?"

"Fine, fine, you don't have to get all  _melodramatic_  about it," he mutters, pulling his shorts down, and his flaccid member would look almost comical if she weren't on the verge of passing out. "How do you want to do this, Red?"

She lays back on the uncomfortable wooden bench. "You do all the work and I try not to die before Casey comes for us."

"And, pray tell, what's the difference between that and every other time you take advantage of poor, old, unsuspecting me?" he asks, starting to stroke himself awake.

Jade can no longer hold her eyelids open. "I'll tell every girl in school your junk is made of diamonds," she whispers breathlessly.

"Hmmmmmm- _nah_ ," he decides. "Everybody I've ever met knows this already. Two tries left."

"Are you shitting me right now? Bargaining about sex with willing participants. Wow. The Ike I know sticks his dick into anything that moves. What is the world coming to?"

"What can I say, I realized my diamond junk is much more valuable than people give it credit for. The favors I do for womankind everywhere deserve to be recognized and celebrated. Possibly with their own holiday. I'm thinking August eighth."

"Good luck with that," she mutters. And despite what she said just a minute ago, adds, "I'll give you a blowjob when I don't have a concussion. Can we just stop negotiating now?"

"Sure." He peels at her. "But, uh, just out of curiosity, how long do concussions typically last?"

" _Ike!_ "

* * *

 Months upon months pass and one day she wakes up and realizes that she can hear him breathing outside the door. Not right just then, but in general. He never knocks—Casey has promised an encore to her knee's intimate date with his balls if he ever enters their room again—but Jade can always feel him when he's there, lingering. Never once has he not been there when she suspects him to be, always resting against the hallway wall with one hand stuffed into his pocket.

It's never occurred to her as strange until now.

Just like she's never questioned why it's always him who comes out of the boys' room when she knocks. Not Hunter, not Jun, not Guillaume of all people.

Just Ike.

Or that she has memorized the access code to the supply closet—the fifteen-digit one he stole from Daramount in their first week at the Academy, the one they messed up at least seven times the first few tries of sneaking in—without meaning to at all.

Or that her pillow smells like his cologne because she's developed a habit of going to him when she can't sleep at four in the morning and space isn't really something they like to put between them.

Or that the new bras she orders from the one store the Academy allows them to browse once every quarter have gotten progressively lacier and perkier.

Or that she sometimes fantasizes about having his hands on her in boring classes, stroking and gliding over her until she's wild with need right when the teacher decides to pay attention to her, and by the time the bell rings she doesn't even think, just pulls him into the nearest closet and turns every deepest, darkest fantasy into reality.

He stumbles to her room drunk once—something to do with his father is all she can gather—and he looks so lost and innocent and  _real_  that she barely stifles the urge to take him back to his room and tuck him in like a child. He asks her about this thing that they have in between telling her she's hot and that his butt chafes, and she shuts the door in his face.

He asks her the same thing sober the next day and this time she has to present an actual answer.

"Look," he says, gesturing with one hand, "I know we had that talk, like, a year ago and, really, it's no secret that I like to watch commitment's ass wiggle on the way out—maybe do a striptease or two—but this has gone on long enough for even  _me_  to take a look around and go 'huh?'"

"I thought it was obvious," Jade answers to buy herself time and figure out what exactly the obvious thing is.

"Something is very obvious, I agree, but comparing notes can't hurt."

She shrugs. "It's the same as it was then. Two teenagers getting an easy lay in a school full of murder and mayhem. Simple."

"Yeah, but how is it an easy lay if we can't stand each other?" he asks, daring her. "Clearly we all know  _my_  story. And by 'we all' I mean the Western hemisphere, of course. But I've never seen  _you_  with another guy."

"Nobody's ever seen me with  _you_ ," she points out.

He grins and looks actually amused this time, as opposed to smirking unpleasantly, the way he so often does. "You're not the two-timing type."

No. She is not.

"Actually, you're not even the sneaking around type," he clarifies. "I'm just exempt from the rule, as is often the case. So my question is this: why hasn't a pretty girl like you found someone you actually  _like_  to take the edge off?"

Her heart skips a beat as a thought flashes in her mind for a split second that maybe she already has. "Interesting question."

Jade swallows quietly and takes a step. And another, and another, until her lips stop an inch from his.

She links their gazes and warmth radiates onto his skin, and she knows her eyes are extra show-stopping today. Her hair must have been tickling his cheek, but he doesn't pull away, his pupils dilating as her breath reaches his lips.

Ike backs up maybe half an inch, mouth open and lips dry in the hollow tunnel they've been favoring recently, but he still bumps into and knocks over some lamp that construction workers have been using. He doesn't even blink at the ear-shattering crash, just resumes breathing—something he stopped doing when she came within eyebrow-hair-seeing distance—and it doesn't quite feel like normal breathing, if he's being honest.

Her fingers reach out to cup the empty air around his crotch, just testing, and she can see it in the twitch of his brow that he doesn't even need to look down to know how close they are. How close they could be with one more movement.

No parts of them touch, but they might as well have. The air weighs down on them with the same pressure as human flesh and it's just as hard to move, and it feels impossibly hot with a side of electric. His already rapid breathing speeds up and his eyes darken, and his Adam's apple bobs almost imperceptibly, and he's wearing three layers, but she's never seen himself look that naked.

"That's why," Jade whispers against his lips, barely audible. "You can't fake that."

Then she draws back, ignoring the unmistakable hunger in his eyes that mirrors what she feels rising up in herself, and gathers all her willpower to chuckle lightly and brush her hair back.

"So why would I go look for someone I like and then have to break him in... until it doesn't work out and I have to break someone  _else_  in, and so on, and so on…. when I can have you—quick and dirty and without the pressure of caring what you think about me—any time I want?"

"No breaking in required," he mutters and for a single moment she thinks she hears an edge of hurt in the words. But then he wets his lips and smirks. "It certainly clarifies things."

"As I said. Simple."

Her voice is quiet and she avoids his gaze.

Is there really some some invisible part of her that wants the complications? Something more than knowing his body as well as her own or being perfectly aware that without him and his jackassery she'd have crumbled long ago, or shutting everything off when she's with him because it's automatic. Easy. Mindless.

They never ever had to break each other in; it was natural from the very beginning.

"No strings attached," she adds, partially for herself.

"Exactly how I like things." He grins. "So, want no strings right now? Your hands-on demonstration left me a little blue."

"I have a mountain of homework." Her lips curve up devilishly. "But I'm sure you'll manage without me."

He nods slowly. "Your vote of confidence will be taken into consideration as the judges come to a verdict."

"Do you mean your fists?" Please say no, please say no,  _please say no_ …

Ike holds them up. "I call these Simon and Paula."

Her palm flies to her mouth—whether to muffle a laugh or a gasp of horror is unclear. "Gross. Let me know if you get the golden ticket," she says with a chortle and walks off, leaving him alone.

* * *

 "So, I guess this is goodbye." She says, glancing up at him.

"Okay, fine; I was wrong," he admits with an eyeroll. "I didn't think this day would come. But I'll mail you your twenty bucks from home because, until I see the Empire State Building from my room while Mr. and Mrs. Smith on the floor above throw glass vases at each other, I'm still not convinced."

She grimaces, incredulous. "It's  _twenty bucks_."

"And I happen to save pennies in a jar. A million is made up of ten thousand hundred dollar bills and all that. Imagine the bus ticket I could buy with twenty dollars."

Jade chuckles.

"Do you… not want it to be true?" she asks after a moment.

He freezes for a split second. "Why would I? I can go back to a life of coke and whores and my father not being alive to the world. How could I possibly not want that?"

"I don't know. It was just a thought." She swallows roughly. "Uh… Have a nice life."

"Sure. You too. This was fun." He grabs her hand and presses her close, kissing her as if it's the most fleeting thing in the world, when in reality he's memorizing every texture, smell, and feeling. "Try not to die before you turn a hundred and ten. Bye."

She watches him depart, torn between wanting him to look back and leave her in peace. To compromise, she turns away. Right before he does glance back.

"Bye," she mutters.

* * *

 "Hey, fuckwad," she says, raising an eyebrow at him somewhere below. "My tits aren't a gift from the gods."

He removes his tongue from them long enough to grimace. "I  _sincerely_  beg to differ, Jade." He lays his palms on them, squeezing lightly. "The odds that we'd end up in the same student transfer program from colleges on opposite sides of the country—in  _Oxford_  of all places— are so low that there is simply no way omnipotent cosmic forces aren't involved."

She casts her eyes to the heavens as he resumes his nibbling. Or, more accurately, to the peeled ceiling wallpaper in the small classroom they've taken hostage. "Uh huh. And these forces want nothing more than to get you laid?"

"It is the highest honor bestowed only upon the chosen ones," he agrees against her skin, pulling her bra even further down. "Bestowed daily, should I say."

Her soundless snorts pity someone. Him, her, the janitor across the hall, whatever spy might be listening in… Maybe she pities everyone. "Oh, lord."

"Yes?" he asks, raising his head with a grin.

"Ugh, not you."

His lips muffle anything else she was going to say and, when her every molecule zips alive for but a moment, she remembers why she got involved with him in the first place. Her fingers fist in the hair on the back of his skull and she pulls him closer, devouring him as if her life depended upon it. And maybe it does. You can never know with her.

She scoots up the table she's been sitting on and takes him down with her, the two of them bended over and fused together with invisible, unbreakable screws.

"Okay, but do you see any other gods around?" he asks quietly when she finally lets him breathe.

"You are not a god."

"Am too." He bites her earlobe. "And so are you." His lips trail over her jawline. "And all our other friends. But they're not here and I don't think you were talking to yourself. Otherwise we need to have a  _serious_  discussion about listening to voices in your head."

Her fingers squeeze his ass. "Ike. Are you  _trying_  to be annoying?"

"Yes." He smirks. "Is it working?"

"Perfectly," she deadpans. " _Why_  are you trying to be annoying?"

"Because it's been two years since I could," he answers and bites down on her neck, making her hold back a whimper when he reaches her collarbone. "Gotta say, Red, never thought I'd see you again."

She chuckles once. "That almost sounds sweet."

"Plus, the sex is always better when you've got your panties in a twist," he adds easily. "Figuratively  _and_  literally."

And there it is. Ike in all his glory.

Two years of telling herself that she was a stupid schoolgirl stuck in a murder house that would drive anyone to madness far worse than what she went through, two years of drawing boundaries the size of Texas with every guy she met, two years of mentally rehearsing everything she wanted to say to Ike if she ever met him again—as unlikely as it seemed—two years of so much else...

And all it's taken her is one smirk to fall back into the same old pattern.

She survived  _Morning Glories Academy_ , for fuck's sake. She lived to make a life of her own.

Ike doesn't belong in it. He never will. But...

Oh, crap, she thinks as she rips his shirt off and drags her stubby nails across his chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This isn't right. She's not supposed to feel that fire anymore.

But her fingers fumble with his belt and her own shorts, trembling with need, and Jade spreads her legs as far apart as she can.

She'll hate herself in the morning; she knows she will. Giving into temptation,  _having this temptation in the first place_ , going for the coffee that made them cross paths right outside—she'll condemn herself for all of it.

But that's tomorrow and this is now, and, as long as he's not there with her when she wakes up, who the fuck cares?

No one has ever made her feel like this piece of shit does when he pins their hands to whatever surface he's deemed sturdy enough, right by her sides, and pounds into her with everything he's got. When they never take clear, alert eyes off each other, not even to blink, never make contact anywhere but the hands and hips, never say a word.

When he knows just where to touch to make her scream, where to kiss to make her see stars, where to withdraw because he wants to hear her beg—something she never, ever does, even when it's clearly spelled out in her eyes. When she knows perfectly well that it's not her pleasure that gets him off, that he just selfishly has a kink for doing things that  _happen_  to drive her nuts.

Nothing will ever compare to when she counted the amount of times they'd sneaked into a dark, quiet corner and done the unspeakable deed, and realized that not only did he come back for seconds more with her than any other person—one night stands being the norm—but that he sought her out more than everyone else combined.

To the countless instances when she ran into him fucking someone else and, in the few moments before turning away, didn't see something in his eyes and the way he moved that was always there with her.

To the way she'd only ever seen him sore after being with her, to the way his sarcastic whispers crinkle in her ear when he makes quips right before he's about to climax, to the way they'll sometimes link fingers together, squeezing them hard, and then never mention it again.

She might not be able to get him out of her system, it's true. But neither can he, and her lips curve into a smirk as she realizes this, once and for all.

Who needs self-hate in the morning anyway? She throws her head back to let out a piercing scream with absolutely no regrets.

* * *

 "You're still here?" she asks, glancing at her couch as she takes off her gray suit jacket and frees her feet from the shackles of heels from hell, however practical they might be.

"Well, it takes a while to go through somebody's stuff," he says, throwing his arms over the back of the cushions with a smirk.

"Maybe that time would be better spent earning your own keep," she mutters and the words come out frozen.

"Ouch." His hand flies to his heart. "I'll get out of your scorching hair soon. Promise. Just gotta find a hotel that'll take me."

She slams her purse down on the coffee table. "Then you'll be here  _forever_."

"Um." He frowns, eyes running over the way she slumps down on the wooden chair opposite him. "Are you all right?"

She doesn't even bother to open her eyes. "No, I'm not  _all right_ , jackass, and I just— I—" She sighs sharply and lets her head fall to the hard wood behind. "I can't deal with you right now, so just... go. Somewhere far away.  _Please_."

He bites the inside of his lip.

"What happened?"

She groans. "I had a bad day, okay? I'm allowed to have bad days! I'm not a robot. Or does that not compute with your image of me as a fucktoy and someone to mooch from?"

"Jade." He looks at his hands, voice quiet. "I just wanted to know if you're okay. You look tired."

"I—" The tight corners of her mouth relax. "I  _am_  tired. A couple people died. A project went wrong. I missed lunch. And to top it all off, I spent a good two hours talking to sixteen-year-old you."

"Ah," he mutters knowingly. "Can I interest you in a foot rub as payment for the endless string of perversions I vaguely remember saying to you?"

She opens one eye suspiciously. "You don't give foot rubs."

"I'm willing to make an exception just this once."

"Why?"

He leans forward. "Because it's in my best interests to keep my hostess happy in every way so that she doesn't kick me out.  _Obviously_."

She once-overs him suspiciously. "Every way, huh?" She purses her lips and slowly lifts her feet into his lap.

He promptly starts kneading and caressing her skin and it ever ceases to amaze her just how  _good_  he is with his hands when they're on someone else's body. Was he a masseusse in another life?

"Well, you have to admit that you've got all the leverage here." He smirks. "I've never been buck naked broke before. I keep expecting ATMs to explode with cash at the mere sight of me, but, alas, they do not.  _No_ , apparently I need to have a 'job'. And 'earn money'. And 'be a functional part of society'. It's all so pedestrian." He grimaces, hands working her feet. "At this point, even  _whoring_  myself doesn't sound very appealing and that's, like, my dream career."

"Oh, don't you  _dare_  give me STDs." She tries to sound threatening, but it's very hard when he's doing  _that_  to her feet.

"Believe me, my figurative dick lost all juice when I found out the cuts these pimps take. And the  _schedule!_ " He gasps in horror. "I can take many things, but I need my beauty sleep."

A smile plays on her lips. "Good. In the meantime, you can help around the house and I'll consider not booting your ass out the door."

"As in chores? I'm sorry, that's a foreign concept to me."

"Clean the dishes and vacuum or it's the highway for you," she clarifies. "And also give me foot rubs every now and then because  _wow_ ," she adds after a beat.

"That I can do," he agrees and smooths out a particularly tangled bundle of nerves in the bridge of her foot, keeping his eyes on her.

She melts into her chair as he continues pressing there, sinking toward him.

But then she lets out a loud, whiny moan. It's the kind that he could've  _sworn_  was only reserved for the orgasms that hit  _at least_  a seven in the scale where one is a cork popping and ten is death by dick. Ike shifts in his chair as the sound replays in his ears over and over again. It has an, um, interesting effect on his body.

He tries to do the same thing to her other foot, just to see what happens, and in five minutes time he's not entirely sure if she's asleep or not, but her eyes are firmly shut and most of her body is now resting on the coffee table between them as she's sunk down so low down her chair that only her head remains there.

Only a few minutes later she's panting and her lips hang open in a perpetual O, and, when he gets to the same spot on  _this_  foot, kneading it with his thumb, her breath catches in the bottom of her throat. Then the dam breaks and she throws her head back as a deep, low moan escapes her, back arching involuntarily.

Grinning at this revelation, he pays attention to both feet, circling his thumbs simultaneously. If her eyes don't roll into the back of her head at least once, he'll eat his scarf.

Spoiler alert: the purple fabric remains safely on the coat hanger for the duration of the evening.

But the result is a moany, squirming, hot puddle before him that vaguely resembles a human being. And his dick as hard as a diamond.

She cracks open one eye when he stops making liquid pleasure run through her veins.

He's massaging his own thumbs now, no doubt tired from his relentless movements for the past half hour, and she flexes her toes to make sure everything's working properly. Her gaze lands on his darkened irises, so clear in the dim light and staring right into her, and she wets her lips, trying to draw in a breath that wouldn't scorch her lungs with its heat.

Jade's never thought of him as particularly handsome. Charming when he wants to be, revolting the rest of the time because such are his expressions, and, though he certainly has the bone structure for it, far from the typical movie star. It's his personality that ruins it.

But in moments like these—when all the facades are dropped and he's not pretending a single thing, just staring at her as if being together will save the world, and his lips twitch as he stares at her neck and her abdomen and her mouth, which she has on good authority means he's imagining kissing all of these places—she can't imagine anyone else ever,  _ever_  looking that hot.

Or making her entire being throb with need like this. Or seduce her with a single look. Or pull off stubble that well.

No one but Isaac.

Her fingers grab her pencil skirt and yank it up sharply on their own volition, and that's all it takes for him to lunge forward and cover her lips with his on the low coffee table. To push the skirt even higher up and shove his hand down her lacy underwear, to rip open her blouse—with her help—and bury his face into her buxom.

Her legs wrap around his hip and her mouth attacks his neck with rigor she wasn't aware she was capable of today, and her hands clutch onto his ass, and, when he finally drives into her after what seems like eternity, she matches him with every thrust.

The table's legs sway alarmingly as he uses the couch for anchoring his feet and pushes deeper, harder into her each time his legs straighten. His mouth doesn't leave hers for even a second now and it's not like he thinks her chapped, pink, small lips hold all the answers to the universe, but there's something making him thirsty for them anyway, y'know?

The rough tangle of tongues and teeth and flesh—when they belong to  _this_  particular person—feels like home in a way that the mansion with five bathrooms never did and, no matter how much he kisses her, it's never enough. He despises this hunger, this need for her—he's never needed anyone in his entire life and, with the loss of his fortune, needing people is happening a little too much a little too fast—and he curses her when she's not around, but the moment she enters the room, all his thoughts land on her anyway and all he wants is keep the hunger going.

Sometimes it's the only thing that lets him know he's alive.

In their rhythmic bouncing, they don't notice when the table moves under them. Or they move on it. Or  _something_. They just fall to the carpeted floor, barely even noticing the change of scenery, and the grunts escaping them might be a little louder than usual for a few moments.

Jade lands on top and finally gathers her skirt all the way up to her waist, mouth fused to his as she rolls her hips over him with as much energy as she can muster. Her long hair falls onto his shoulder in thick curls and he gets drunk on her current smell, the scent coated with sweat and arousal and strawberries—and automatically reminding him of his own pleasure of past and future.

His fingers grab onto her hips under the loose remnants of skirt and try to hold her down as gathers every bit of strength he has left and starts pounding into her from below so fast that she could swear he vibrates. His jaw clenches and his brow furrows in determination as she looks at him from an inch away, and his eyelid twitches, and she knows this look well.

Her fingers fly to her clit between them, dragging over the little nub to twist it every which way while her insides come alive at his cock's behest, and then she clenches around him sharply.

Ike growls into her mouth when her twitches and her screams drive him over the edge, and he has to bite back a whimper as they just keep milking each other for all they've got with the same force as before.

Her eyes roll into the back of her head and her face contorts into a prayer when his hand joins hers running chaotically over her clit, and later he swears he heard her whisper,  _"please"_.

And then, with one final twitch, she collapses onto him and his eyes drift shut.

They don't move a muscle until all their sweat has dried, until panting has turned into shallow breaths, until they can no longer feel the other's heartbeat as well as their own.

They stay on the soft carpet together and neither will ever admit it, but over time it begins to look and feel a lot like cuddling. When she slips off him with a dull thud, his arm pulls her shoulders close. She snuggles up at his side, burying her head in the crook of his neck, and the two of them don't mutter a single word to stop this dangerously intimate activity.

When she regains the ability to think, her first thought is alarming.

If every night from now on were like this… would it really be so bad?

She doesn't have an answer to that.

* * *

 Jade catches herself thinking the same thing a few months later, on their thirtieth birthday, when she realizes that he's still there in her house, sleeping next to her in the large bed more often than the couch, asking about her day nearly half the time, and she can't remember the last time he annoyed her.

He kisses her casually as they clear the dishes from the table and makes a joke, and there's no doubt in her mind that later in the night he'll nail her to the wall so hard that she won't be able to walk for two hours, and no.

It doesn't seem that bad at all.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried.


End file.
